The appeal in the velvet eyes was more than I could
tolerate, unmoved.
"Smith," I said shortly, "you remember Aziz?"
Not a muscle visibly moved in Smith's face, as he snapped back:
"I remember him perfectly."
"He has come, I think, to seek our assistance."
"Yes, yes!" cried Aziz, laying his hand upon my arm with a gesture
painfully reminiscent of Karamaneh--"I came only to-night to London.
Oh, my gentlemen! I have searched, and searched, and searched, until I
am weary. Often I have wished to die. And then at last I come to
Rangoon...."
"To Rangoon!" snapped Smith, still with the grey eyes fixed almost
fiercely upon the lad's face.
"To Rangoon--yes; and there I hear news at last. I hear that you have
seen her--have seen Karamaneh--that you are back in London." He was
not entirely at home with his English. "I know then that she must be
here, too. I ask them everywhere, and they answer 'yes.' Oh, Smith
Pasha!"--he stepped forward and impulsively seized both Smith's
hands--"You know where she is--take me to her!"
Smith's face was a study in perplexity now. In the past we had
befriended the young Aziz, and it was hard to look upon him in the
light of an enemy. Yet had we not equally befriended his sister?--and
she....
At last Smith glanced across at me where I stood just within the
doorway.
"What do you make of it, Petrie?" he said harshly. "Personally I take
it to mean that our plans have leaked out.
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